50 shades of messed up
by Alexilaihorox
Summary: Everyone's got a skeleton in the closet—or, alternatively: everyone knows everyone else, and they all need therapy. Some more than others. Human au. This is basically just a random assortment of mostly intertwined one-shots focusing on relationships and dynamics. Purely self-indulgent, but I hope you like it, too. In the newest one - Natalya tries & fails to put the moves on Ivan.
1. hong kong

**a/n: Ha so some things before we start.**

 **S'not a happy story. I _f rape, abuse, cheating, swearing, and really messed up family dynamics trigger you in any way, please go ahead and turn back now._**

 **I just got to reading character wikis and had this huge college/slice of life au idea that wouldn't go away. Not related in any way to gakuen hetalia.**

 **Disclaimer: Himaruya owns Hetalia, not me. I'm just borrowing them for this fic.**

 **A note on names:  
Xiao Chun is Hong Kong  
Liying is Taiwan**

* * *

Xiao Chun supposes he knows why he's here, because really, why wouldn't he be? He's the broody Asian kid in a predominantly white classroom full of kids that whisper around him like he doesn't speak perfect English, doodling in his notebook rather than listening to the teacher. And after maybe pretending he didn't, in fact, speak English, just to avoid being called on, and maybe essentially mocking the teacher, he's not surprised he's here; he's more surprised he wasn't sent here before this.

"Mr. Li," the principal starts, huffing as if he's trying to breathe, and Xiao Chun has to repress a very ill-timed snort. "I assume you know why you're here?"

"G _ee, I wonder_ ," he mumbles, Cantonese the preferred language this afternoon. Maybe they'll suspend him for being a brat and he can spend the next week catching up on that drama he started with Yongsoo the other day.

"You can drop the act," the older man says, voice nearly disdainful. Xiao Chun's eyes follow his hand as he rolls a pencil over the papers in front of him. One of them is from his notebook, and he can just make out what it is. The beginnings of something probably too rated for school. "I am fully aware that you know what I am saying, and that you can speak English, too."

"And?" Xiao Chun gives, face carefully blank.

"And, you know why you are here, right?" the principal presses, face reddening a little, and Xiao Chun tries to drag it out—see if he can get the other beyond flustered.

"Because the law requires me to attend school?" he says, fully aware that he's being a 'piece of shit' as Yao sometimes rants when he's pushed too far, but he can't really help himself. He's bored, and at least this way he doesn't have to sit in class.

The principal takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Try again."

"Because you called me here," Xiao Chun continues, biting his tongue to keep from laughing and shaking his bangs a little farther into his face to hide the way his eyebrows quirk in amusement. Where Yao is precariously controlled chaos, Yongsoo an open book, Kiku a damn near psychopath, and Liying the sassy one, he kind of has the apathetic image to uphold. And as it's his only real place in a crazy pseudo-family, he needs to keep a hold of it or be as good as forgotten.

"Better," the man sighs, fingers moving from rubbing between his eyes to pulling off his glasses and rubbing at his temples. "But not the answer we're looking for." His voice is growing steadily angrier, and Xiao Chun is almost there—so close he can taste it.

"Because I walked here—" he starts, voice deadpan and serious, even if what he's saying is anything but, and he's not disappointed when the principal slams his hands down on his desk so hard the pencil snaps, shooting to his feet.

"Because you were drawing dicks in class, Xiao Chun!" he shouts, voice loud enough to carry out the half-open door and into the office space behind him. His name is butchered beyond belief, but he's more pleased with the fact that he got the oh-so-esteemed principal to shout 'dicks' across the workplace.

"I would have never guessed," Xiao Chun pushes, shifting in his seat just in case the principal throws something at him. He doesn't think he will, because he's a school authority and not supposed to do things like that. But then again, family isn't supposed to do what some of his has done, either.

"Mrs. Leavengood!" the older man calls, stomping from the room. "Just—"

The voice fades as the principal turns a corner, and Xiao Chun crosses his legs, grabbing his phone from his pocket and shooting off a quick text to Yongsoo to let him know that yes, he's probably got detention, and _no, you shldn't wait for me pls just go home_.

Not that home is really the best place to be, but…

"Xiao Chun?" a female voice asks after another minute or two of silence. He turns a little to find the school counselor entering the room, moving to sit in the principal's chair. She grins at him, as if they've plotted something together, and he allows himself to grin back, just a little. He's more familiar with her than he should be, considering how many times he winds up in her office, and he likes to think they're almost friends, of a sort.

"The one and only," he says after a pause, when it seems like she isn't going to say anything else. Without even realizing it, he's sprawling a little more comfortably in his chair, not sitting so rigidly, and it's nice to get to almost relax.

"I understand you were pestering Mr. Grant today," she starts, trying to sound stern, although he can see her slight smile, the way her eyes dart down to the paper in front of her. He feels like he should be embarrassed, but he just can't bring himself to feel as such.

"Maybe," he admits, phone vibrating in his hand as a text comes in. Probably from Yongsoo, since not many others text him.

"Male anatomy this time," she states, wiggling her eyebrows and flipping the paper over to see if there's anything on the back. There isn't, this time at least.

"Mr. Stanford is a dick," he supplies as an excuse—and it's true, honest. The guy is a racist bastard, and Xiao Chun was really just stating what everyone felt.

She laughs before she can help herself, shaking her head and glancing at him almost apologetically. "Drawing skills and personality aside, it really is rather inappropriate to be drawing such things in class, Xiao Chun. As is your behavior today, after you were called to the office." She pauses, as if to let it sink in, and he closes his face off again, expression carefully blank.

"I know." He doesn't sound sorry.

"The principal thought you should have detention."

"Okay," he agrees, because yeah, he's been a little asshole. Detention was expected.

"For the month," she continues, and Xiao Chun carefully keeps his surprise masked. He'd been expecting a week at worst, but a whole month? Yao was going to flip shit.

"Okay," he says again, yanking his hand up into his sleeve so she can't see his fingers clenching around the phone in his grip.

"We'll have to call your brother," she murmurs, voice softening, eyebrows drawing together. "Since this has happened two times in the last week alone."

"Are you sure?" he asks, trying to hide his upset. Usually he just got detention and wound up home a couple hours late—no big deal. Yao didn't have to know he was pretty much actively causing problems at school. "Just give me detention, and it'll be fine—"

She very nearly winces, shaking her head lightly, and he cuts off, smoothing his face out again and picking at the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt, eyes focused on the movement so she can't read the emotions in them.

"We've been lenient thus far, honey, but protocol insists we call to let your legal guardian know," she says, sounding sorry almost, and Xiao Chun huffs. She doesn't even know the half of it.

"Whatever," he finally mutters, both feet on the floor as he gets set to push his chair back. " _I_ _t's not like anything bad will come from_ _ **that**_."

"Xiao Chun, you know we don't speak Chinese—"

"Cantonese," he speaks over her, voice nearly emotionless as he stands. "Cantonese. Chinese sounds different. _A_ _lthough I'll bet you couldn't tell the difference_ ," he finishes in said language, grabbing his bag.

"Hey," she says, standing as well and coming around the desk to grab his arm before he can get out the door. He resolutely holds himself still, face and body and tone as blank as the unused papers in his sketchbook.

"Please don't touch me."

"Sorry," she murmurs, taking her hand back and stepping around to try to meet his eyes. "Sorry, I just—where are you going? We aren't exactly done here yet, and we still need to call your brother." She sounds so earnest that he just doesn't get how _she_ doesn't get it. Isn't she supposed to be a therapist with some kind of psych degree?

"Go ahead and call him, but I won't be here for it," he mumbles, half-bowing even as he shoulders past her to get out the door. "I'll just go back to class."

"Xiao Chun—"

"I'll see you in detention," he assures her, shoving his hands in his pockets and slipping out into the hallway that's now filled with kids on the way to the cafeteria for first lunch. He's technically got second lunch, but it doesn't stop him from meshing with the crowd of upperclassmen on their way to the parking lot to grab lunch off campus.

He pulls out his phone as he turns a corner to head toward the coffee shop down the street that he likes, checking for the message.

 **From - yongsoo  
** **형ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ**

 **To - yongsoo  
dn't 'hyung' me. just go home.**

And maybe that's a little harsher than he intended to be, but Xiao Chun's in such deep shit tonight that he wants to prolong going home as long as possible. And because he's a good older brother, or friend, or…whatever the hell he is to Yongsoo, he doesn't want to drag the other out way past curfew and get him in trouble, too. But then again, if he's home…

He stops to wait for the light to change, sending another text before yongsoo has time to respond.

 **To - yongsoo  
watch that drama we started for me. w ur headphones in. dont bother yao ge, he's gnna be mad tonight.**

Not that that will stop the younger, most likely, but at least this way Xiao Chun can't say he didn't warn him if Yongsoo winds up sporting a bruised lip along with his ego in the morning.

His phone vibrates a second later.

 **From - yongsoo  
** **싫어ㅠㅠㅠㅠ**

Xiao Chun hesitates for several minutes, standing in an alcove just out of the flow of foot traffic, biting his lip. It'd be a hell of a lot better for everyone if Yongsoo just went home and stayed quiet, but because Xiao Chun's pretty sure that won't happen like, ever, he sighs, running hands through his hair instead of banging his head into the brick wall next to him like he wants to.

 **To - yongsoo  
fine. meet me at the usual spot**

The response is almost immediate.

 **From - yongsoo  
! **

He half smiles, able to perfectly imagine the near squeal, the literal jumping for joy. The smile wilts a little, turning into a nearly full fledged frown at just how excited Yongsoo is over the simple fact that he'll be hanging out with Xiao Chun. He gets that the younger can be a little—okay, maybe a lot—overwhelming, but really, Yongsoo isn't so bad.

At least, not so bad as the rest of his 'family' seems to think.

His phone vibrates again as he steps into the coffee shop, and he sits off to the side, waiting for the line to die down and reading over the new message.

 **From - yongsoo  
** **김밥주세요 … ㅠㅠ**

Xiao Chun snorts, rolling his eyes.

 **To - yongsoo  
/sigh**

He's barely hit the send button before a new text pops up.

 **From yongsoo  
** **사랑한다**

He smiles.

 **To - yongsoo  
yeah, yeah. love u too.**

And he does. At least—more than the rest of them.

* * *

 **a/n: 'Explicit pictures,' as the wiki says, was the only thing this translated to, I'm only kind of sorry.**

 **If it's confusing to anyone, _anything in prolonged italics is being spoken in a language that is not English_.**

 **형 - hyung. used by a younger boy to reference an older boy in korean. used for close friends/brothers. like nii-san in japanese.**

 **싫어 - don't want to**

 **김밥주세요 - kimbap please**

 **사랑한다 - more polite/formal ver of i love you**

 **ge - mandarin for older brother. not a usual term like hyung/nii-san are, but used occasionally.**

 **Respective ages in fic are 17 (hk), and 15 (sk).**

 **Thank you so much for reading! ;u; Please let me know if you liked it, or spot any errors! ((kindly please))!**

 **/all the hearts**


	2. hungary

**a/n: Sob hi. these are kinda more like a bunch of inter-connected oneshots than a real story ehe.**

* * *

If there was one thing Elizabeta knew she should never do, it was go to the gas station across the street from the university on her lunch break. Not because the food was bad, or because the truckers were shady, or because the price for coffee was ridiculously low, and she always bought too many, no. More because of who seemed to work there every single time she stepped foot into the place.

Even still, it doesn't stop her this time around, just as it didn't yesterday, and she finds herself wandering the limited isles with a bag of chips and an iced coffee in one hand, free hand hovering over a second coffee. She can feel the presence behind her, and she wrinkles her nose, eyeing him in the glass.

As expected, he hasn't changed at all since yesterday afternoon—his platinum blond hair is still messy and attractive, and his red eyes are still just as piercing, and his shit-eating grin nearly matches hers.

"Gilbert," she starts, raising an eyebrow and taking a step to the right. He follows, just like she knew he would.

"Eliza," he mimics, the nickname rolling off his tongue with such familiarity that it almost takes her breath away.

"It's creepy to stalk your customers," she informs him, spinning in place and brandishing her coffee bottle.

He flinches before he can help it, straightening up and laughing to try to save face. It doesn't work on her—never has, never will. But she lets him pretend it does, just to humor him.

"You should be flattered that I'm paying attention to you," he starts, chest puffed out, and she thinks it probably would have looked a lot more menacing, or impressive if his shirt didn't have 7/11 stitched up near the collar. "I mean, not everyone is as awesome as I am."

"Riiiight," she agrees, rolling her eyes and tapping him on the nose with the bottle. His frown is far more endearing than it really has any right to be. "So awesome that you've resorted to stalking the customers that come into your mini-mart, rather than oh, say, having people stalk _you_ because you're just _that_ awesome."

She's half expecting him to pout further, ask something along the lines of _M_ _an why you gotta be like that_ , but he doesn't. Instead, his pouting just increases to almost painful levels. "You suck Elizabeta," he mumbles, crossing his arms and blocking her way like the child he is.

She snorts, shaking her head a little at the younger man. "You only wish Gilbert," she teases, taking advantage of his dropped guard to poke him in the stomach in just the way she knows will—

He bursts into involuntary laughter, jerking back and half-swatting at her hands. "Hey, hey! That's cheating, you can't do that!" he insists, standing straight and letting out something between a laugh and a huff. "Not fair."

She just smiles sweetly, pushing him out of the way with her free hand and flipping her hair for good measure. "All's fair in love and war," she quotes without thinking, only realizing what she's said when Gilbert goes more than a little quiet behind her, and she's pretty sure it isn't because she's pushed his 'awesome self' out of the way.

She stops with her back to him, waiting for either the inevitable joke to follow, or a more serious topic of conversation that she wants to avoid At All Costs. When there isn't an immediate response, she glances over her shoulder, blowing a strand of hair out of the way so that she can see what's going on.

Gilbert is standing there in the isle behind her, a frown on his face and eyebrows drawn together. She thinks he looks a little silly like that, but refrains from telling him so. Instead, her eyes take in his tense stance, the way the veins in his forearms pop as his hands clench and unclench.

"I think we both know that's bullshit," he finally says, voice just as strained as his posture indicates. His eyes flicker up to hers for a second, judging something—her expression, stance, something—before darting to the floor, to the door, the counter. He doesn't say anything else, and after a beat she finds herself reaching back to grab a fistful of his shirt and jerk him into motion.

"Highly possible," she says, trying to make light of everything as she pushes him towards the counter so that she can pay for her meager lunch. "I mean, you've read some of that stuffy literature, right? I don't think they know what they're talking about at all," she rambles on, all too aware of the fact that she's acting like _him_ , and he's acting more like _her_ , and shit. She just wanted lunch.

"How come you won't tell me why," he says, half question, but his voice is a little too flat to raise up on the end like it should. He doesn't look at her when he asks it, instead staring down at his hands scanning her chips, her coffee.

"Won't tell you why what, Gilbert?" she asks, biting her lip and watching his hands as well. She tries not to think of where they were last week.

"Why we, you know, can't be…" he trails off, raising his gaze to meet hers and motioning between them. Granted, it's a valid question, and he has every right to ask it. She just doesn't have a good answer.

"I don't know, gilbert," she answers honestly, shrugging and trying not to meet his eyes after all—the eye contact is more intimate than she really wants at noon on a Friday.

"I call bullshit again, Eliza," he sighs, putting her purchase in a bag and sneaking in an extra pack of the gum he knows she likes. There is too much emotion welling up inside of her from the simple action. It's ridiculous.

She makes a move to grab her bag and just leave, but he snatches it before she can, raising it up above his head so she can't reach. "Hey!"

"Tell me," he demands, expression hard, but she can see the uncertainty in his eyes, and this is the part that gets her every time. "Tell me why you won't actually date me."

She doesn't say anything because there's too many things to say.

"What? Is it because we grew up together and you think it's weird? Because that's a really flimsy excuse considering you let me fuck you in your car not even five days ago," he starts, and she can tell he's been building up to this, that it's all ready to come pouring out.

"Gilbert," she says, trying to interrupt him because the doors have chimed, and there's more people in the store, and she's going to be late getting back if she doesn't leave _now_ , and she _really_ doesn't need him doing this right now. She reaches for the bag, but he pulls it out of her hands before she can get a good grip.

"Are you ashamed of me? Is that it? Because let me tell you—"

"Gilbert!" she interrupts him again, louder this time, more stern as she hefts herself up onto the counter to yank the bag out of his hands. It tears, sends her coffee to the floor in a mess of caffeine and glass shards, chips falling behind the counter. The gum packet drops down right in front of Gilbert, bouncing a couple of times before coming to a stop. It's strangely sad, and she's pretty sure he agrees, considering the look on his face.

"You have customers," she says weakly, trying to straighten out her dress, her hair as she steps out of line.

"Elizabeta!" he shouts, angry and hurt despite his façade. She knows this, because she knows _him_ , and she hates the way his voice makes her hesitate.

"Later," she says, voice decisive, loud enough for him to hear even as she's walking away. "Later. You have customers, and I have to get to work."

She doesn't hear his reply over the agitated girl demanding his attention, over the door slamming shut behind her.

Usually it's not that bad, but still, she reminds herself as she crosses the street, empty-handed and five dollars poorer— _this_ is why she should really stop going there.

* * *

 **a/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! ;u;**


	3. belarus

**a/n: sofia is ukraine.**

* * *

Natalya waits patiently beside the door to Ivan's last class, fully aware she's being just as creepy as people point out, but she just really can't help herself. Her and Ivan are the perfect match, and if no one else can see that, then more pity to them.

She settles on straightening out her bow while she waits, stepping back just a little as the doors open and students start coming out. Her eyes scan them as they walk by, looking for the tall shock of platinum blond, and she reaches out to grab Ivan's arm before he can head down the hall without her. He freezes up almost immediately, and she doesn't even hesitate to drag him off to the side, pressing him to the wall so that she can talk to him before he inevitably tries to go running off.

He's so still he might as well be a statue, barely even daring to breathe, and she sighs, leaning her head against his chest. His heart is beating as fast as hers is, although she's fully aware it's for an entirely different reason, even if she likes to pretend sometimes.

"Ivan," she starts, hating that he flinches. She's not even being scary right now! "Do you, uh, want to get lunch?" she asks, trying to keep her voice quiet, nonthreatening. She doesn't _mean_ to scare him, it's just that she's got to keep him in line, dammit. Especially considering the way one of the students that passes them jerks away and hides his face like maybe Ivan won't attack if the kid isn't seen.

There's silence for a second, and then his hands are coming up to gently push her away, shaking a little as he waves them in front of himself with the most fake smile she's ever seen. It kind of really hurts, a lot more than she lets on. "I-I already had lunch today, Natalya. S-Sorry. You should just go home, da?"

The fact that he's trying to be nice about it stings more, almost, than if he'd just turned around and nearly ran from her, although she isn't sure why. Maybe it's the look of pity she can see in his eyes—as if _she's_ the crazy one.

She isn't sure what expression is on her face, but it's something that makes him pause his movements to leave, a frown on his face. She takes advantage of this, fingers curling in the scarf hanging from around his neck. The scarf from S _ofia_ , that Ivan just _loves_. The scarf that he'll wear while he throws away anything Natalya's made him, and her blood boils briefly before she swallows it down, trying not to look pitiful as she glances up at him.

"Hot chocolate?" she tries, voice lighter than she feels. "It's starting to get kind of cold outside, and I know you hate the cold, so we could get something warm—"

"N _atalya I don't want to,_ " he says, Russian flowing easily off his tongue, as if switching languages will somehow hide the fact that they're quickly on their way to fighting. American kids might not know any other languages, on average, but _most_ of them aren't stupid. Most.

" _P_ _lease, Ivan,_ " she murmurs, hands clenching in the pale pink material of his scarf so hard that her knuckles go white. He can't leave, he can't leave! " _I_ _t's just hot chocolate, just for a little while. I won't bring up marriage or love or anything! I promise!_ "

He seems torn for a second, before he sighs, and she hates the way it sounds like a man accepting death, or something equally as bad as their fate. She's honestly not that bad! It was _one time_ she threatened him with a knife, and that was only because it was a _really_ bad day.

"Fine," he relents, tugging his scarf from her grip as gently as he can. It's still kind of a struggle because she's afraid he'll turn tail and run as soon as she lets go. " _W_ _e can get hot chocolate, but after that I want you going home, da_?"

"Fine," she concedes, pouting and crossing her arms as he takes a step back. There's an awkward pause before he moves to leave, and she rushes to follow him, too close to his side to be comfortable, but she _needs_ to be. Because in the same way that she kind of keeps him from hurting others, his presence at her side unintentionally protects _her_ , and she needs him.

It's a short, but silence-filled walk that finds them at the café across from campus, and they don't speak until they're both seated at a table, hot chocolates in hand.

Well, they don't speak even then either, and it takes a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence before Natalya speaks up, pasting a smile onto her face. It's so fake it hurts, and she's not even sure Ivan notices. "I made it onto the cheerleading team," she starts, actual excitement beginning to bubble up inside. "At the tryouts yesterday. I'm going to be a flyer, they say, because I'm small."

Ivan actually smiles, and it's much less fake than earlier, his fingers curling around the cup in his grasp. "That's great," he says, and the praise washes over her with more intensity than she expects. It has her flushing nearly to her toes, her smile turning shy. "You're so beautiful that I bet you'll do great. A flyer is the one that they throw, da?"

"Mhm," she agrees, nodding and hiding her smile behind the rim of her cup. It's the most attention he's given her in weeks, and she's not sure what to do when he isn't edging away from her, or telling her to leave. "Maybe…you could come see me at practice, or a game," she suggests, quietly, half terrified that he'll reject her.

Surprisingly, he doesn't. He smiles so wide that his eyes nearly disappear. The action has her flushing down to her toes. "Maybe I will," he murmurs, nodding. "'Talya will look so pretty, I'm sure!"

She flushes hard again, face hot as she focuses on the table, bangs hiding her flaming cheeks from view. If he doesn't like her like _that_ , and doesn't want to give her the wrong impressions, then why does he say things like this? "I'll try!" she says, instead of voicing her thoughts. It's hard though, with the atmosphere, the fact that there's no undercurrent of upset anywhere, and the way he's smiling, the light spilling in from the window highlighting his hair—she really wants to kiss him. And it'd be so _easy_ really, to just lean across the small space of the table between them—

Ivan is out of his seat before she can realize she's even moved, scarf hastily pulled up to cover part of the lower half of his face. He's standing rigidly, hands at his sides and balled into fists, and Natalya knows she's blown it before he even pastes on that fake smile she hates so much, nodding his head toward her. "Well my drink is gone, now, so I think I will take my leave," he says, waving at her even as he gives her a wide berth as he edges around the table.

"Ivan, wait—!" she calls, scrambling to get up from the table without stepping on her dress or knocking anything over.

"Please go home," he says, glancing at her from over his shoulder as he walks toward the door. "Please just go home 'Talya. And be careful."

She wants to scream at him that he can't do things like this—can't give her cute nicknames, can't tell her to be careful, say she's pretty—without repercussions, without her falling even harder for him. It's his fault that she's in love with him, and if he wasn't so perfect—

"Ivan, please," she begs, voice low so they don't wind up having a shouting match in the café, trying to slide between guests and tables to meet him at the door. He leaves before she can get to him, and she's almost at a run when she makes it outside. He's halfway across the street already, the light set to change before she can chase after him, and she stomps in frustration, hands clenching hard at her sides.

She had _behaved_. She hadn't been obsessive, or creepy, she hadn't brought up the fact that she loved him with every fiber in her being, or the fact that she wanted to marry him and be with him for life. She hadn't mentioned the way she'd kept herself in line when he got touchy with Raivis, or the way he was friendly with Tino, or the female teacher that had been _way_ too close after the one class. She had been _good_ , and still…

And still he ran from her. And really, she thinks, tugging at her sleeve to keep the small knife there hidden, if he's not going to notice her through legitimate means, it's going to stop her from getting what she wants.

They're _perfect_ for each other, and she's going to make him see that, dammit.

* * *

 **a/n: thanks for reading! ;u; hope you enjoyed! /hearts**


End file.
